Brandon was fairly stupefied by this announcement.
“But what about the—the papers father put into his hands for me?” he asked, breathlessly.
“Your father give him papers, lad? Well, I reckon not! He’s lied to ye.”
“Then he hasn’t them?”
“Not he. I’ve got ’em myself, safe and sound.”
“You have them?” repeated Brandon.
“That I have,” replied the mate confidently, “and what’s more, I’ve got ’em right here!”
At this juncture the door behind them opened and the red faced barkeeper came into the room.
“Look er-here, wot’s de meanin’ of all dis, hey?” he demanded, eying Caleb with disfavor.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said the wooden legged sailor, in disgust. “I know you, Jack Brady. Get out here, you walking beer keg! I’m having a private seance with this gentleman,” intimating the cowed Leroyd.